


And In Walks an Angel

by Pastel_Teacups



Category: Trainspotting (Movies)
Genre: Heroin, M/M, Minor Character Death, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-24
Updated: 2017-05-07
Packaged: 2018-10-23 09:50:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 9,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10717017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pastel_Teacups/pseuds/Pastel_Teacups
Summary: So how does it all end?----An AU where baby Dawn never dies, and Renton gets caught trying to steal the money.





	1. Drive Boy

As Renton lays next to Begbie, who’s snoring contently with the bag of money in his arms, he can hear clearly in his mind what Sick Boy had said to get him to front the money in the first place. 

_”I just wanna look after my kid,”_ he’d said, looking so humble and contrite Renton nearly mistook him for a beggar on the street. In his stupid, stupid pity, he’d agreed. For Dawn, and for Allison. It wasn’t fair. ”A few extra thousand pound, Rents. I could buy her clothes, food-”

What a prick. Renton shifts in the bed slightly and chews on his nails, stewing in his own silent anger. Sick Boy wasn’t gonna use the money for baby Dawn, he was gonna “invest” it just like he’d invested the rest of his money. Connections, deals, that was all Sick Boy cares about.

The longer Renton thought about it, the angrier he felt. To hell with it. To hell to them. This money wasn’t gonna go anywhere useful anyways, not in the hands of these fucking morons. He slowly sits up and puts on his shoes, careful not to make too much noise as his mind races. It’s fine. The only reason no one else has done it yet is because they haven’t thought of it, right? He didn’t need to feel guilty. He doesn’t feel guilty, even as he gets up and pours himself a glass of water, looking in the mirror and daring himself to do it. 

Finally he steps over to Begbie’s prone body. He looks almost like an innocent man like this, arms wrapped around the bag and eyes closed peacefully. Carefully, he takes one of his arms and moves it away from the bag he’s clutching, as though Renton were the protagonist in one of Sick Boy’s Bond movies. Then he lifts the other arm slowly, heart pounding in his chest. 

He allows himself one small sigh of relief. He’s done it. But it’s not over yet. He needs to get the hell out of here, before someone wakes up. He cautiously steps over Sick Boy and Spud, and just as he goes to unlock the door a hand grips his arm so tightly he nearly drops the bag completely. 

“What the fuck do you think you’re doin’, eh, Rent-Boy?” Begbie asks, voice low and dangerous. 

Yeah, Renton takes a beating for that one. By the time Spud and Sick Boy wake up from the noise he’s already bleeding from a deep gash in his arm and another in his side, and Sick Boy manages to wrestle the bloodied knife from Begbie’s hands before he kills Renton entirely. 

Then, there’s an uncomfortable discussion, which Renton is excluded from as he stands at the small sink and tries to wipe up the blood spread down his right side. 

“We should give him some of it,” Spud says, tense as though he’s readying to be hit. 

“Some of it?” Begbie asks, incredulous. “Wee cunt tries to steal our money and you still want to give him some of it?” 

“He fronted most of the money, Franco.” Spud says. When Renton look behind himself in the mirror, Spud’s looking at him with hurt in his eyes. Renton looks away. 

“Give it to him.” Sick Boy says from where he’s pacing in the corner, face unreadable and hardened. “Give him the two grand he fronted and tell him to go back to his shite life in London. I don’t wanna see him Edinburgh unless somebody dies.” 

For some reason, the authority in his voice bars any argument or protest. Renton can feel Simon’s eyes boring into the back of his head, but he doesn’t dare turn to meet his gaze. 

That morning, Begbie hands out the money. Renton gets one bundle instead of two and another black eye, along with the long gash along his arm and side. The rest of his money is distributed amongst them. They go their separate ways. 

Renton tries to have a positive outlook on all this. He’s broken even, which is better than what he thought he’d get after being caught trying to run off with all of it. He can go back to his life in London, his real estate job, and never see any of those fuckers ever again. 

And then, of course, Allison dies.


	2. Doorway Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone dies. Renton returns.

Within two months, Renton loses his job. Far too hung up on his own personal misery he’d shown up late one too many times, and without a job he was ultimately and eventually evicted from his small flat and cast out on the cold, looming streets of London.

Coincidentally, it’s the same month Allison dies. Renton has nowhere to go, and there’s going to be a funeral. He takes it as an opportunity to go home. 

He tells himself he wants to say goodbye to Allison, but that’s not true. They were mates, ran in the same circles, both revolved around Sick Boy like he was the world and they were his two moons, but they’d never shared much more than skag and the Sick Boy’s attention. 

He’s back on skag, too, and his father seems to sense it the moment he arrives. Even still, he doesn’t try to stop Renton the morning he leaves for Allison’s funeral. 

It’s a quiet, empty affair. No one really shows up except for Spud, Renton, and a few estranged family members he’s never seen before. And at the center of it all is Sick Boy, or more properly, Simon, holding baby Dawn in one arm and shaking hands with the men and women that walk sullenly past with the other. When he sees Renton, he looks away. 

Spud fills him in. “Allison got it, y’know, just like Tommy. Sick Boy tried to take care of her, but she was just too sick ‘n all that.” He says it very nonchalantly, but his eyes look sad. “It was that time we were gone, y’know, doing the deal. She couldn’t take care of herself, so no one did.”

“And the baby? They didn’t take her away?” Renton asks, watching Sick Boy as he quiets a whimpering Dawn. 

Spud leans in a little, looking past Renton at the baby. “Tried to, but they couldn’t. He passed a drug test, and the house was clean. No drugs, no nothin’. Social Services said they’re still gonna come by once every few months to like, make sure the house is safe for babies and stuff like that.” 

The fact that Sick Boy has his act together more than Renton makes him itch. “Is he really better than foster care?” 

“He’s different now. You’ve been gone a while.” He lowers his voice. “You stayin’?” 

Renton considers it, or pretends to consider it. He has nothing in London. At least here he’s got his childhood bed, parents who are disgusted by his habits but too tired by now to try and stop them. “Think he and Franco would let me?” 

“You didn't hear?” Spud asks, raising his eyebrows. “Begbie got caught, went to prison for all that robbery shite. He’ll be there at least twenty years, they said on the news. Maybe more.” 

Renton can’t say he’s all that surprised. He turns and looks back at Sick Boy. “Think he’ll let me, then?” 

“Oh, yeah.” Spud says, adjusting his tie. “You’re his best mate.” 

\----

After the funeral they all end up at Mother Superior’s. It’s becoming a tradition now, Renton thinks as he looks at baby Dawn, who sits asleep in Simon’s arms. Hazily, Renton can remember the days she’d spent crawling around the dirty carpet, skirting around napping junkies and trying to find her mother in the middle of it all.

“So,” Sick Boy says after taking a sip of his beer, his first word to Renton after two long months for both of them. He sounds cold, normal, but Renton can sense the sadness in his voice, see it in his eyes. “Someone’s died. You’ve come back. Turn that two grand into something, or what?” 

“You turn your four thousand six hundred into something?” Renton retorts simply. 

The blond shifts the almost-toddler in his arms, face set. “I bought medicine for Alli and clothes for Dawn. What’d you spend yours on?” 

Skag. And his last month of rent. He doesn’t say anything. 

“Right.” Sick Boy says, satisfied by Renton’s silence. “Haven’t you got a plane to catch?” 

“Haven’t got anywhere to go.” Renton replies after a moment, keeping his eyes down. “You really not gonna let me stay?” 

Sick Boy looks from Renton to Spud, looks at their big eyes before he shrugs. “Guess I can’t without Franco.” He looks away. If Renton didn’t know better he’d think Sick Boy misses him. “Suppose you can, as long as you don’t have any plans to fuck us over.” 

Renton supposes it’s a step in the right direction. He opens his mouth to say - something - but then baby Dawn stirs and starts to wail, leaving Simon to set his beer down and scramble to comfort her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will be up sometime within the next few days! Hope you enjoyed!


	3. Chemicals Boy

It’s alright, living back home again. Renton gets a shite flat that’s almost identical to the one he used to have, except it’s even older and even dirtier. Finding somewhere to shoot up isn’t as easy as it used to be, though, so more often than not he ends up at Spud’s. 

It’s actually all well and fine, getting high there. Spud’s always been a relatively comforting presence to have around, lacking the maliciousness the rest of their mates had. They were just laying there one afternoon, basking in the blissful sensation of a recent hit and breathing in the stale air of Spud’s flat. All is lovely and simple, just as heroin always makes it. 

That is, until Sick Boy bursts in. 

“Spud, I - _Jesus_ ,” he says when he sees them, their eyes glazed over and bodies lax. “You two are fuckin’ pathetic, y’know that?” 

“Hello, Simon,” Spud says dreamily, clearly too far gone to even register the baby in his arms. 

When Renton looks up at Sick Boy, he sees that he’s wearing a suit. A suit, why would he be wearing a suit?

 _Work._ The solution hits Mark after a long moment of thought. _Sick Boy’s been at work. Is going to work. Does he work?_

“What are you doing here? Why the fuck are you wearing that?” Renton asks, sputtering slightly when Sick Boy sets Dawn in his lap and starts picking up the gear strewn around the floor. 

“I need you to watch her, I’ve got a job interview. No fucking drugs till I get back, got it? Here.” 

He tosses something onto the floor. “What’s what?” 

“A timer. When it goes off, feed her. It’s simple.” 

A bag is deposited next to Mark and then Sick Boy’s gone, leaving them high and with a baby. In his lap, Dawn looks up at him with her big, round eyes. 

“Jesus.” Mark says to her, and she smiles. 

\----

Mark ends up doing most - if not all - of the work. Spud falls asleep twenty minutes into their babysitting adventure, leaving Mark to drag himself out of his heroin-induced stupor to feed and change the baby, rocking her when she cries and halfheartedly dragging a toy in and out of her view to keep her entertained. When Simon returns Dawn is fast asleep, snoozing away on Renton’s chest as he spreads out on the couch and tries to catch a couple hours of his own sleep. 

“You almost look like you like her,” Simon says, raising an eyebrow as he surveys the scene. 

Mark’s still not finished being angry at him for just dumping a fucking _baby_ with him, and he scowls as Sick Boy picks up Dawn’s diaper bag. “Fuck you. I’m not a babysitter, y’know.” 

“Why? Have you got another job?” Simon asks, looking at Mark as though _daring_ him to retort. 

There’s nothing for him to say. “Come on, Mark. You’re a junkie thief. The least you could do is look after my kid once in awhile.” 

“I’m not the one who had the brilliant idea to get Allison knocked up.” It’s a step too far. Mark can’t find it in him to care.

Sick Boy’s eyes show a touch of sadness, and then his face hardens. Mark feels just a twinge of remorse. “Fine.” He gathers Dawn in his arms and shoulders the bag, shaking his head softly. 

“I got the job.” He says after a beat, walking towards the door and not quite looking at Mark. “Thanks for asking.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter should be posted tomorrow or Thursday. Let me know if you enjoyed!


	4. Dog Boy

Mark spends the next two days deep in the plush comfort of being extremely high, and then he runs out of money. 

He’s gonna have to get off the skag, he knows it. It’s getting harder and harder to find a hit, and he’s not going to be able to make rent unless he gets some money somehow. 

Detoxing is just as painful as before. He doesn’t hear from Sick Boy and he distances himself from Spud even after he steps out of his flat for the first time in two days, just for the time being. He finds a shite job at the nearest grocer and starts getting his act together. 

_This is Choosing Life,_ Mark thinks as he scans junk food item after junk food item, punching in the numbers when his scanner breaks and handing change out to the old woman that comes in twice a week. This is as good as it fucking gets. Being a slave for the rest of your life.

He’s scanning items and resisting the impulsive urge to steal money from the register three weeks later when he looks up and comes face to face with Sick Boy. 

Dawn’s in the cart, chewing on one of her toys. Sick Boy clears his throat. “Hello, Mark.” 

“Simon.” He replies back, mouth dry. Distantly he realizes he hasn’t scanned anything, and sets to work as quickly as he’d stopped. 

After a moment Simon shifts; he’s wearing a tie and a button-up. “You look clean.” 

“I am, as a matter of fact.” Mark replies stiffly, looking down. Milk, bread, baby food. “You look like an accountant.” 

“Close. Travel agent.” 

“Go on holiday much? Travel agent and all.” 

“No, never.” He replies. Mark feels a distant flutter in his chest at their old, familiar banter. 

He bags the groceries. Simon hands him the money. “Sounds awful boring if you ask me.” 

“Oh, like your job’s so excitin’, you’re packin’ groceries.” Simon says, raising an eyebrow. “Besides, I’ve got a kid. Can’t exactly do much with her hangin’ around.” 

When Mark looks up at Simon, they’re both smiling. 

“Ah, sure, but I hear kids are great. Bein’ the future ‘n all.” 

“Please. If this little tike’s the fuckin’ future, I don’t wanna see it. Can’t even eat her food right, this one.” Even with the teasing, Renton can see the love in Simon’s eyes for her.

They both laugh. Renton missed this. 

“What time’re you off work?” Simon asks suddenly.

“Seven. Why?” 

“Come to my place.” It’s not a question, and it’s only barely not a command. “Kid loves you. Besides, not much else to do here.” 

Renton finds himself nodding. “Yeah, okay. See you at seven.” 

\----

Sick Boy’s place is weird. It’s fairly messy, but not with the type of crap Mark would expect from Sick Boy. Hell, knowing all the wild shit he’d done just months ago, Mark would guess that this is someone else’s flat completely. 

Baby toys are strewn all over the place, along with various dresses and hair clips. When Sick Boy yells at him to come in when he knocks on the door Mark finds him sitting at the table, trying to coax Dawn into eating whatever mushed vegetable that’s on today’s menu. 

“Hey. Sit down, I’ll be done soon.” He tells Mark, not looking away from Dawn or the spoon she refuses to open her mouth for. “Come on, you little shit. You’ve got to eat something.” 

Dawn and Sick Boy seem to have an unspoken agreement; Sick Boy swears at her and keeps a messy flat, and in return Dawn doesn’t scream or cry much. Then again, it occurred to Renton that Dawn didn’t cry much because she knew from being at Mother Superior’s so much that she would likely only be ignored. 

The thought makes him sad. But then Dawn knocks the spoon from her father’s hand and lets out a loud laugh, and Mark feels better. 

\----

“I just want her to have a normal life, y’know?” Simon says long after Dawn’s been put to bed, taking a long sip of his beer as he and Mark sit on the couch, relaxing back into the cushions. “I mean, she’s gone through enough. I don’t think I’m the best father, but I’m better than the fuckin’ system, y’know?” 

Mark thinks about it for a moment before nodding. “Aye, you’re right there. You’re an alright dad. Got a job, buyin’ her things. You’re takin’ care of her.” 

Simon looks at the TV with a small shrug. “Thanks, rent-boy.” Then, after a moment of silence, he speaks again. “I missed you, Rents.” 

Mark doesn’t know what to say to that. He’d missed Simon, too, but it was his own selfishness that’d gotten him tossed away in the first place. He’s got two scars from Begbie, one on his arm and the other on the right side of his torso. But he feels with a twinge of guilt when he thinks that he might’ve left his own scars on Sick Boy. 

“Yeah,” is all he says, taking a long sip from his beer. “Yeah, I missed you too.”


	5. Beautiful Boy

Renton ends up spending the night at Simon’s place, and he’s sleeping soundly on one side of the other boy’s bed before he wakes to the sound of wails. 

He suppresses a swear and cracks an eye open, turning his head to look at Sick Boy. The fucker’s still fast asleep and seemingly unbothered by the cries coming from Dawn’s room. Some habits die hard, apparently. 

“For fuck’s sake,” Renton mumbles before rolling out of bed, running a hand over his face as he shuffles down the hall toward the source of the crying. 

Dawn is lying in her cot with tears streaming down her face. When she sees Renton she only cries louder, grasping her hands up at him until he reaches in to pick her up and cradle her to his chest. 

“There, there, it’s alright.” He murmurs, rocking her gently as he paces slowly around the nursery Simon has half-heartedly decorated with yellow paint and a few other toddler-esque decorations. He’s done this a few times before, on the extremely rare occasion that he was sober at Mother Superior’s and feeling nice. He changes her nappy as best as he can with his limited experience (limited meaning none to speak of), but by the time he’s done she’s stopped crying and is looking up at Renton with big, bright eyes. Sick Boy’s eyes, Mark realizes slowly. He sets her gently back in her cot once she’s calm and steps back into Simon’s bedroom, climbing into bed and planning on going back to sleep until Sick Boy grows tired of him and kicks him out. Blearily he glances over at Simon, who has the luxury of still being asleep. His eyelashes sit softly against his cheeks and his lips are parted, one hand curled into a loose fist as it rests against his chest. 

Mark stares for a moment, watching the gentle rise and fall of Simon’s chest before he turns and resolves to actually go back to sleep, ignoring the sudden and strange ache in his chest. 

\----

The best thing about being home is seeing Diane. They don’t sleep together anymore, but they periodically get together to smoke hash and talk. Diane talks about boys and her grades, Renton complains about his latest hardship. He’s not sure how she’s so grown-up, so mature and forward while still maintaining her innocent, childlike positivity in people. She’s likely smarter than he’ll ever be, and Renton doesn’t mind it in the slightest. 

Diane looks at him like he’s the most oblivious person in the whole world when he mentions that he spent the night at Sick Boy’s flat. Renton furrows his eyebrows, immediately seizing up as if for a fight. “What?” 

Okay, he minds it sometimes. 

“You spent the night with him?” She clarifies, sitting up and raising an eyebrow. 

“Yeah,” Renton replies easily, before he sees that _glint_ in her eyes and immediately shakes his head. “Not like that, Diane, Jesus!” 

She takes a drag of the joint and smiles the coy kind of smile she has when she knows something Mark doesn’t. 

“What?!” 

“But you wish it _were_ like that.” She guesses, tucking her legs under herself. She’s still in her school uniform, only she’s lost the blazer and tie and has unbuttoned the first two buttons of her top.

Renton sits up, shaking his head as he retreats to lean against his headboard. “What?! Don’t be stupid. I’m not - I don’t like Sick Boy like that.” Diane knows him too well, so he knows there’s no point in pretending he doesn’t like men just as much as he likes women. But Sick Boy? Jesus. 

Diane smiles, pushing a stray piece of hair from her face and tucking it behind her ear. “Relax, Mark. Really, it’s perfectly clear how in love you both are with each other. There’s no harm in admitting to your little crush.” 

“And you’ve seen us together what, once? Twice? The only time you even met him was when he asked you to work for him, how would you know he’s so in love with me?” 

Mark can hear himself getting defensive, but he doesn’t care. 

She shrugs. “I know what you tell me about him. I think you talk about him more than you think.” 

Mark thinks about it, then determines immediately that she’s wrong. “He’s my best mate, that’s all.” 

She leans back and gives him that familiar look she always gives him when he’s acting stupid, like the one she’d been wearing the night they first met and she ripped him to pieces within moments of meeting him. “Sure, Mark.” 

There’s a long pause between them. Mark leans over and plucks the joint from Diane’s lips, taking a long drag and breathing out slowly. “Got yourself an age-appropriate boyfriend yet?” 

Diane hums. “None of them are very exciting.” 

“Exciting,” Renton says, looking at her with a huff of a smile. “You mean addicting. You’ve not got good taste in men, you know that?” 

“You’re one to talk. Who’s the last boy you slept with?” 

Mark has to think. It’d been a while. “I met him at a club in London after the deal. We were both high, and we only made it so far as the back alley.” 

“See? Everyone loves a bad boy,” she says, lying back.

“Yeah?” Renton asks, smiling wickedly. “Does that make me a bad boy?” 

“No,” Diane says thoughtfully, turning to him with that same coy look. “But Sick Boy is.” 

He isn’t ashamed to say he hits her, hard, with a pillow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't write a Trainspotting Fic and not include my girl Diane (also, her and Mark's platonic soulmate thing is what keeps me living tbh) 
> 
> Let me know if you enjoyed by leaving Kudos and Commenting! Thanks!


	6. You are My Drug Boy

“Spud,” Mark calls as he knocks on his friend’s door, jiggling the latch just right until the door comes unlocked and he can push it open. Spud’s laying on the floor, and when he sees Renton he smiles widely. “Hey, Rents!” 

He looks so blissfully oblivious, so beautifully inebriated and trapped in the devastatingly ecstatic throes of heroin that it takes a good amount of willpower for Mark to not shuffle over and steal a hit on the spot. Then he thinks about Sick Boy and his six-month-solid sobriety, the part of his lips when he sleeps and the way his and Mark’s legs touch when they both sit on the couch. 

Who needs willpower? He was never willful. And that’s fine, Mark thinks as he sits down and starts preparing himself a hit with as much dignity as he can muster. 

\----

The story’s still the same, if a little worse than the last few times it was told. Loses his job, his flat, and his parents are so sick of him they turn him away, resolve solid even in the face of Renton’s pale, skeletal form. 

He spends two nights with Spud and two more in the streets, freezing and detoxing all at once until suddenly Simon’s there. Simon’s there, hauling him off of the cold ground by the scruff of his neck and dragging him along. Renton struggles to keep up, tripping over his own feet as Simon relentlessly keeps going. Finally they reach Simon’s flat, and he tosses Mark on the couch as if he weighs nothing at all.

“What’re you doin’, Rents? You’re a fuckin mess, y’know that?” 

“Fuck off, _Simon_ ,” he replies, but it’s lacking it’s usual spite. 

Simon rolls his eyes. “I’m not gonna let you go through this all fucking over again. We’re getting older. It’s just gonna get harder.” 

“Why do you care?” Renton asks sharply, and Simon shakes his head. 

“You’re stayin’ with me, at least until you’re clean. Jesus, Mark.” 

Simon walks off toward the hallway, leaving Renton alone on the couch. He’s not in much of a position to argue much more. Besides, it’s not a bad deal. A place to stay in exchange for getting clean. It’s nothing new, anyways; the Sick Boy method’s worked before. 

\----

It takes three weeks to get skag out of him completely, and though he still looks too skinny to be healthy he spends the tail end of those weeks looking after baby Dawn while Simon goes to work. 

She’s growing pretty rapidly now; while he and Simon are sitting on the floor looking through old photos one evening, she shakily gets to her feet and takes three stunted, clumsy steps toward them both before falling back onto the carpeted floor. 

They look from her to each other for a moment in shock, before abandoning the photos to spend the rest of the evening trying to coerce Dawn into getting her to walk a little more. 

“Once she gets good at walking, she’ll start running.” Renton says as he settles on his side of the bed that night, smiling softly. 

“Then she’ll start talkin’, too.” Simon replies, pushing a hand through his hair. “We better stop swearin’, eh?” 

“Oh, fuck. I didn’t even think about that.” He says, laughing softly. “Jesus. You’ve got yourself a little person, and all that. A real parent.” 

“Aye, I guess so.” Sick Boy settles on his pillow, one arm tossed over his head as he looks up at the ceiling. “Thanks, Mark. For helpin’ out. I’m not sure what I’d do if you weren’t around to look after her.” 

“You’d hire a sitter.” Renton says with a shrug. 

“No, no, it’s more than that. You’re not just a sitter, you - you care.” 

Renton turns and looks at Simon. He looks - bothered. Nervous, maybe. Perhaps he’s just unused to thanking people, or unused to receiving help, Mark thinks distantly. “Of course, Si. You’re a mate.” 

\----

“So you live together, you’re sleeping in the same bed, and you’re looking after a kid together?” Diane confirms, leaning forward. 

There’s no hash today, and he and Diane are sitting in a little cafe booth rather than the flat Mark no longer has. Dawn sits in a booster seat at the head of the table, so they’ve been receiving odd looks since they first walked in, what with Mark still looking thin enough to be on drugs and Diane in her school uniform toting a baby around together. 

Mark shrugs. “Yeah, we’re mates.” He says into his coffee. 

“Sounds like you’re married to me,” Diane replies simply, more than content to make faces at Dawn until she giggles brightly, showing off a tooth that’s coming in. That tooth’s been causing them all grief; just days ago she’d been screaming nonstop about it, until finally Sick Boy went to the store and bought her some toy that’s supposed to help. It’s worked, so far. 

“Married?” Mark sputters, shaking his head. “Don’t be stupid, we’re not married.”

“Sounds like you might as well be,” she says, looking over at him. “Oh, just admit it. You love him, and you’ve already built a family with him.” 

“We have not built a family.” He retorts. 

“No?” Diane asks. 

“No.” He confirms. 

“Want to go out tonight?” 

“I can’t, Simon’s working late. I’m lookin’ after Dawn, makin’ dinner.” 

Diane arches an eyebrow. “Sounds like a ‘domestic bliss’ situation if I’ve ever heard one.” 

“Shut up.” He says, face hot as he takes another long sip of his coffee. 

“Just admit that you want to fuck him, Mark. All this denial isn’t as entertaining as you think it is. Say it.” 

“No.” 

“Say you want to fuck Sick Boy.” 

“I do _not_ want to fuck Sick Boy.”

“Oh, come on.”

“No!” 

Diane opens her mouth to say something more, but the third and silent member of their table suddenly speaks. 

“Fuck!” Dawn says brightly (and loudly), looking to Mark like she’s just won an award. 

She says it a few more times while Renton stares at her in shock, attracting the attention of several cafe patients who are already looking at he and Diane like they need to be put in jail. 

Diane, meanwhile, can’t control her laughter. Mark flips her the bird while Dawn isn’t looking, then quickly starts to gather her things to leave before she gets even louder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Fact: I don't know anything about the pacing of baby teeth development/first words/leaning to walk, so I'm gonna go ahead and contribute any inconsistencies to heroin. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed! The next chapter should be up soon!


	7. Blond High Density

“Fuck! Fuck!” 

“I don’t understand how this happened.” 

“It wasn’t _my_ fault.” 

Dawn looks between the two boys proudly, clearly waiting for them to fawn over her as they had when she’d taken her first steps. 

Simon runs a hand over his face. “What are we gonna do? We can’t take her out like that, can we?” 

“We’ll just have to try and teach her some new words. Y’know, until she picks them up and forgets about this one.” Renton figures, looking up at Simon from where he’s sitting on the floor with Dawn. 

Sick Boy huffs and unbuttons his work shirt, looking around for a t-shirt. Renton absolutely does not stare. “Alright. Let’s start with dog.” 

\----

“Dog.” Renton repeats for the thousandth time, slouching in front of Dawn while she clumsily toddles around between him and Simon. “Dawn. Dawn.” 

“Fuck!” 

At this point, she’s ignoring the both of them entirely. 

“Cat,” the blond tries, leaning back on his hands. “Zebra. Animal. Kid. Dawn. Family. Mom, dad. Choose life.” He rambles, scrubbing a hand over his face. 

“Dad.” Dawn says suddenly, making them both sit up and look at her with wide eyes. 

“What?” Simon says, turning Dawn so she’s looking at him. “Yes. Dad.” 

“Dad!” She says, just as proud as she was with her first word. “Dad.” She says to Sick Boy as she stumbles into his arms, before spinning around and pointing to Renton. “Dad!” 

_Oh, Jesus. Diane’s gonna have a fucking field day,_ Mark thinks, just barely resisting the urge to roll his eyes. 

He and Sick Boy exchange looks, before Sick Boy pulls Dawn to his chest and hugs her tightly. “At least we got her to stop saying - the other thing,” he says, pressing a kiss to her forehead. 

\----

It’s just routine by this point, Mark and Simon sharing the bed. Mark always climbs under the covers first, still too skinny to hold in much warmth, and Simon joins him a few minutes later. They never touch, aside from the accidental brush of limbs every so often. 

Tonight, though, feels different. 

“Rents?” Sick Boy says after the lights have all been turned out and Dawn has been put to bed. “You awake?” 

“Yeah,” he confirms, staring up at the ceiling. “What is it?” 

It’s silent for a long moment before Sick Boy speaks. “Dawn thinks we’re her fuckin’ dads.” He sounds unsure, nervous. “Are we? Both her dads, I mean. Like, are we?” 

“Are you askin’ if we’re Dawn’s parents? If _I’m_ Dawn’s parent?” 

“No. I mean, yes, but - I think you know what I’m askin’, Rent-Boy.” 

Renton turns his head. Simon’s looking at him, eyes shifty as they jump around Mark’s face. Renton’s heart jumps. “I don’t know. What do you think?” 

“I don’t know.” Simon says. “We’re mates. We’re mates who’re sharin’ a bed and raisin’ a kid. What’s that mean?” 

Mark doesn’t sit up. He’s afraid that if he makes a sudden movement Sick Boy will be scared off. “Stop thinking of it like that. What do you _want_ it to be?” 

Simon looks away, back up at the ceiling. Renton follows suit. “I don’t - I don’t know, Rents.” 

“Sure you do. Just say it, whatever you’re thinkin’.” 

There’s a long pause, a long bout of silence. Then suddenly a shift, a rustle of blankets, and Sick Boy’s lips pressing against Renton’s. 

It’s not like any kiss he’s ever had. Sick Boy kisses just like he talks; insistent, impulsive, superior. Distantly, Renton feels his fingers slide into Sick Boy’s hair, lets his eyes close. 

Renton is the first to pull away long moments later, eyes opening to see Sick Boy hovering above him with parted lips, lidded eyes trained on him in the dark. 

“That’s what I want it to be,” he says softly, and Mark can’t do anything but nod.


	8. Wet Boy

“What’s for dinner?” Dawn asks from where she’s sitting at the kitchen table, coloring in one of the activity books Spud had bought her just a few days ago. 

“Chicken breast with broccoli and rice.” 

She wrinkles her nose. Simon snorts from where he’s leaning against the counter, arms crossed easily over his chest. He’s changed out of his work shirt and has exchanged it for an old t-shirt that’s just a bit tight on him; Renton thinks distantly that it might belong to him.

“Just be glad he’s making chicken at all for us, Dawnie. He’s not doin’ it for him, too much of an _animal lover_.” He teases, grinning when Renton flips him off once Dawn’s returned to her coloring. 

In retrospect, the last three years have been the best in Mark’s life. He and Sick Boy like to joke that they’ve Chosen Life, and it’s closer to the truth than either of them will admit. The job, the career, the family, everything. Last year he and Sick Boy got a joint bank account. They don’t discuss it too much; choosing life after all they’ve done still feels a little unnatural, a little shameful. But they’re happy, the three of them. All that bad shit, it’s behind them. 

When Dawn asked about her mother last spring Mark and Simon debated on what to tell her for days, before they decided on the truth. They told Dawn that her mother was Allison, that she was warm and sweet to Dawn when she was smaller, and that she’s someplace safe, quiet, peaceful. 

She doesn’t understand yet, but she will one day. They know that day will also be the day she finds out about the skag, the stealing, why Allison died so young and why the blond bushy-haired boy in all their old photos isn’t around anymore. But that’s for later. 

“Why are you a vegetarian, daddy? Do you really love animals that much?” 

“I dunno. Just am.” 

“Dad, why’s daddy a vegetarian?” 

“Because he’s very health-conscious.” Sick Boy says, walking over to press a kiss to her forehead. “Always has been.” 

He and Renton share a knowing look, and Renton’s opening his mouth to make a retort when there’s a sudden, sharp banging at the door. 

“Who’s that?” He asks, wiping his hands as Simon steps into the entryway to answer the door. Mark leans over the counter in an attempt to listen to what’s being said, eyebrows knit as he tries to identify who could be over this late. Spud, maybe, but ever since he got off skag he stopped making visits unannounced. Simon’s words are muffled and Mark thinks he hears a familiar name, but then there’s a swift _thump,_ as though something’s hit the wall. 

Then Sick Boy’s being shoved back into the main room that opens into the kitchen, with none other than Francis Begbie following after him with his hands curled tightly into fists at his sides. 

“What’s wrong, ya cunt, thought I wouldn’t be back for you? Thought I wouldn’t come after you after betrayin’ me like that?” 

Huh. Maybe Sick Boy was smarter than Mark then, after all. The old thief in him feels just a bit indignant, before he remembers the volatile situation he’s currently in, remembers that Dawn is sitting at the table and watching all this unfold with a frightened look on her face.

“Begbie-” Simon tries, before Franco punches him square in the jaw. 

Mark gets Dawn’s attention and puts his finger to his lips to keep her quiet, but it doesn’t matter. Begbie’s facing them now, anger in his eyes as he looks between them and puts it all together in his mind. 

“Well,” he says, teeth grit as he watches Mark slowly move around the counter to stand in front of Dawn. “It makes sense that you two should be fuckin’ bufties together. You’re both great at betrayal. Hell, you two cunts are a match made in heaven. Raising a thief for a daughter, right Rent-Boy? You two are fuckin’ disgusting, you are.” 

Mark puts up his hands. “I didn’t get away with it, Franco. I don’t know what you’re on about. We didn’t steal anything from you.” 

Begbie raises an eyebrow and turns back to Sick Boy, who’s now standing up and wiping the blood from his nose. “Oh, you didn’t tell him? Keepin’ secrets, are you? Not such a great basis for a relationship, so I’ve heard.” 

“Begbie-” Simon starts again, but the man just puts up a hand and turns back to Mark. 

_Fucking broke out of jail for this. Whatever this is,_ Mark thinks, shifting on his feet but ensuring that Dawn is still kept safe behind him.

Franco opens his mouth to tell Renton whatever it is that Simon’s done, but before he can start the blond sneaks up and tackles him, throwing punch after punch at Begbie. He lands a couple. Renton debates running to the phone, calling the police, but he can’t risk leaving Dawn alone in the middle of all this. It leaves him standing uselessly still in front of her, torn between action and protection, watching the gruesome fight unravel before him. 

Then Sick Boy’s pinned and there’s a knife to his neck. Mark’s stomach drops. When Begbie speaks, his tone is deathly quiet. 

“Go to the fucking table and sit with your kid. Go on,” he says, climbing off of Simon but watching him like a hawk while he shakily climbs to his feet and sits stiffly at the chair across from Dawn, lip as well as nose now bleeding badly. Neither of her parents dare to look at Dawn, but Mark can hear her crying quietly. 

Begbie smiles, keeping the knife held tightly in his hand. “Now,” he says, looking between them with that familiar look of crazed excitement on his face. “Shall we get started?”


	9. Tears Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“So how does it all end?”_
> 
> _“In a box, Franco.”_

It’s deathly quiet, just for a moment. Mark keeps his eyes on Begbie. He’s standing tall, looking different than he did the last time Mark had seen him. Renton didn’t think it was possible, but he looks even crazier than he had prior to going to prison. Begbie’s eyes are trained on Sick Boy, though, a strange mixture of retribution and crazed anger on his face. 

“Begbie, how did you get out of jail?” 

“Never you fuckin’ mind how I got out of jail.” Begbie replies sharply, his eyes not moving away from Sick Boy. “Take your fucking kid to her room.” 

Mark hesitates for a long moment before he steps back and pulls Dawn into his arms, keeping Franco in his sights as long as he can before he has to turn to step down the hallway. “And Rent-Boy.” 

When he turns to face Begbie, Dawn’s face pressed against his chest, the man’s looking at him with dark eyes. “Don’t fuckin’ try anything.” 

The last time Mark was in a situation with Begbie this angry it ended in two long scars across his frame; Simon sometimes traces along them when they’re in bed, skating his fingers along the raised, jagged lines as they share old memories. 

He’s got a feeling this situation will end differently. Worse. 

He steps into Dawn’s room and sets her down, kneeling in front of her to wipe at her eyes. 

“Daddy-” She starts, sniffling senselessly while Mark tries to calm her. 

“No, Dawn, it’s alright. Hey. It’ll be alright,” he tells her, trying not to sound as unsure as he feels. “Just stay in here, okay? Stay in here, keep quiet, and - don’t come out. No matter what, don’t come out until me or dad comes and gets you. Do you understand?” 

Dawn nods after a moment, wiping at her watery eyes.

“Good. That’s good. I’ll be back soon, alright? Stay here.” 

Fleetingly he presses a kiss to her forehead before he straightens up, giving her a hopefully-reassuring smile before slipping out the door and closing it tightly behind him. He takes a few deep breaths to steady himself, then straightens up and starts down the hall. 

When he steps back into the living area Begbie and Simon are locked in a dangerous stare. Mark feels a chill run through him. 

“Sit down.” Begbie orders without looking at him, finally glancing his way when Renton slowly steps forward and lowers himself into the chair that Dawn had only just vacated. 

“I can explain.” Simon says softly, no longer looking at Begbie but instead at the table. It’s old and cheap, dull wood stained by coffee rings and strewn with cracker crumbs. 

“Explain what?” Mark finally asks, glancing between them both before settling his eyes on Simon. “What’ve you done?” 

“Aye, tell him what you’ve done.” Begbie says, nodding softly. “Tell him what you did to your mate. Your fuckin’ _friend_.” 

Simon remains silent for a few seconds, then his eyes flick up to meet Mark’s. There’s still blood on his lower lip. 

“I turned Franco in and took his share of the money.” He says quietly, and Mark feels as though he’s just taken a terrible, awful hit from Mikey Forrester that leaves him wheezing and dry heaving into the nearest bin.

Part of him wishes he’d thought of it. It’s so fucking brilliant he wants to kiss Simon and kill him all at the same time, but now’s not exactly the time. 

His mouth is dry. When he does speak, it’s barely above a whisper. “Jesus, Simon.” 

Simon doesn’t look at him. Begbie takes another step closer to the table, nodding softly. “That’s right. Called the police on me when my back was turned, didn’t you? Turns out you’re a smart cunt after all.” 

He reaches out and grabs a fistful of Simon’s shirt, leaning down so that they’re face to face. “Not smart enough, though.” 

“Franco, I needed the money. I was desperate, I-” 

“I went to fucking prison because of you. For four fuckin’ years.” 

“Allison needed medicine, Dawn was growin’ out of her clothes-” 

Mark sits there, torn. He could make a run for the phone and call the police, he could try to catch Begbie off guard and attack him, something like that. He doesn’t do any of those things, though, just sits there paralyzed by fear and worry. 

Then he sees Begbie’s knife glinting in the flourescent kitchen lights, and he lunges into action without stopping to think. 

He gets Begbie onto the floor and manages to knock the knife from his hand, but only after Begbie has dragged it through his chest and left him with a fairly sizeable gash. It’s not big enough to kill him, but it certainly doesn’t feel good. He winces and coils back, giving Begbie the perfect opportunity to knock him off. 

But then Simon is there, kicking and punching with renewed vigor while Renton tries to catch his breath to the side. Begbie twists and tries to escape as Simon lays into him, teeth grit and eyes determined, deadly.

Mark sees it before Simon. And just as he lunges to shove Simon out of the way, the forgotten knife glints in the lights and sinks deeply into Mark’s chest and before it’s tugged out roughly again.

He skitters back with a gasp, breath suddenly short and vision going blurry as he hits the linoleum floor. He can’t feel anything other than the worst pain he’s ever felt radiating from his chest, can’t feel the warmth on his chest as his blood seeps through his shirt and onto the floor or the sudden bolt of lightning that seems to shock Simon into gathering the knife from the floor and driving it into Begbie’s chest once, twice, three times.

When Mark’s eyes finally focus in, Simon is gone. He’s gone for what feels like hours, and Renton is just starting to wonder if he’d seen it wrong, if Begbie had killed Simon, when Simon returns and gathers Mark’s heaving form into his arms, looking down at him with teary eyes.

“Mark. Mark, look at me. The police are coming, you just have to stay awake ‘till then. _Mark,_ ” he says, voice growing more and more urgent as Mark blinks up at him with glassy, unresponsive eyes. 

Simon grasps one of Mark’s hands in his, squeezing tightly in an attempt to force some warmth back into Mark’s hand. 

All Mark can feel is cold, cold, cold. 

“Simon, I-” Mark breaks off with a wince, weakly trying to shift, trying to make the terrible pain go away in some way or another.

“Fuck. _Fuck_ ,” Simon says, looking down at him with worried, teary eyes. 

From somewhere far away, Mark realizes this is the second time Simon’s had to watch someone he loves die. 

His vision is starting to dim. The pain has subsided, and now he can’t feel anything aside from the blood spread out beneath him, the warmth of Sick Boy’s hand against his. 

Dimly, Mark can see Simon lean down and press a kiss to his parted lips. They’re cold, so cold. Simon represses a sob. 

“I love you, Rents. I love you.” 

Renton feels heavy, too heavy to hold. He can’t stay much longer. 

Simon doesn’t let go. Renton does.


	10. Angel Boy

Mark’s funeral reminds Simon of Allison’s, even though he knows they’re not really that similar.

Mark’s is on a rainy day, and rather than Simon being in charge of it it’s Mark’s parents, teary-eyed as they greet the few guests that show up. They give Simon a sympathetic look as he walks past with Dawn in his arms, and Simon can’t help but hate them a little. It feels almost as though they were expecting Mark to die; the only surprise is that it was murder and not another overdose.

Spud is there, and Diane. Simon and her had never been very close, but he can’t help but wrap an arm around her shoulders when tears well in her eyes and she covers her face with her hands. 

Spud cries too, when he tells an old story about he and Mark. Simon can’t recall the old time he’s reminiscing on, but he doesn’t listen very much.

Dawn remains completely silent. Even still, tears slip down her cheeks from where she sits on Simon’s lap. She wipes them away before Simon even has the chance to, keeping her eyes dutifully forward throughout the proceedings. Even when Mark’s parents take her in their arms and hug her tightly, she doesn’t make a sound.

Simon doesn’t cry. He’s cried plenty in private, and he feels like he’s out of tears to give. He hasn’t slept in days; every time his eyes shut he sees Mark lying in his arms, bleeding out helplessly. They’d asked him to speak, but he’d declined. 

\----

That night, Simon gets to packing. Dawn sits on the couch, yawning widely. “Where are we gonna move?” 

“Somewhere else. Somewhere new,” he tells her, deciding not to mention that he hadn’t quite settled on a specific destination quite yet. 

It’s quiet for a moment, before Dawn speaks again. “Where do they go?” 

“Who?” 

“Momma. Daddy.” She says, looking up at Simon. 

He can remember opening the door to get her the day it all happened, shirt stained with blood. He can remember telling her that Renton was gone, can remember holding her back from running out to see him, pressing her close to his chest to hide his own distraught tears from her view. Too young. Too fucking young. 

“I don’t know.” He admits after a small pause, only looking at her for a brief moment before looking away. “Some people say heaven. Paradise. But I don’t know.” 

“Why don’t you know?” 

“No one knows, Dawn.” 

She thinks for a moment. “Well, what do you think?” 

Simon has to pause and consider the question for a moment. What does he think? After a bit he walks over and presses a kiss to her forehead, giving her a sad, reassuring smile.

“I think they’re somewhere happy.” He promises her. She doesn’t smile, but the concerned line between her eyebrows goes away and she stops looking so worried. Simon’s heart aches in his chest. No child should be this concerned about anything. He nods in the direction of the hallway. “Go on, get yourself ready for bed. It’s gettin’ late.” 

She nods and shuffles off toward her room, rubbing at her eyes sleepily. Simon watches her go, waits until she’s gone to sit down on the couch and run a hand over his face, closing his eyes. He can still see the slick blood staining the kitchen floor, can still feel the way Mark’s hand slipped from his and the dead weight of his body in Simon’s arms. 

He opens his eyes and forces himself to stand up. Mark wouldn’t want him sulking. He can almost hear his voice; telling him to get a move on and stop thinking about it. He starts packing again, taking a few of Mark’s things and leaving the rest for his parents. 

Maybe he’ll go to London. Mark always said that Dawn would like it. Simon, too, if they lived in a real flat without Begbie hanging around twenty-four seven like before. They’d talked about moving a few times, but they never bothered to go through with it. 

The selfish part of Simon wants to know why he deserves this misfortune, this curse, but the more logical part of him understands. He wasn’t a good person, and even if he’s changed now it doesn’t cancel out all the things he’d done before Dawn had suddenly become his responsibility. He deserves it. Mark, though, Allison. They didn’t. 

He tosses Renton’s old sweatshirt into a box to take with him. It’s too small for him, but he manages to make some flimsy excuse to himself to justify keeping it. He thinks back on the first hit they’d ever had, thinks of the way Renton had rolled up his sleeve and laughed while Simon helped him tighten the belt around his arm. 

He’s always loved Mark, in some way or another. It never changes. 

Dawn’s small voice calls to let him know she’s ready for bed and he looks up, starts down the hall to tuck her in and kiss her goodnight. 

\----

“You’re moving?” Diane asks, raising an eyebrow in surprise. 

Dawn’s being watched by Spud today, and Simon has invited Diane to come over and smoke hash with him. She’d called in sick to her fancy internship, so she’d said, but he’s pathetically grateful to have someone to talk to even despite the fact they’d never been the closest of friends.

“Yeah. Change of scenery, and all that. Not much here for us anymore,” he replies, passing her the joint. She leans back on the couch and takes a long drag. She’s starting to look like a proper adult now days, nothing like the uniform-clad girl that’d been hanging around Renton just a few years ago. Now she’s professional and quite normal; Simon has a hard time believing this Diane is the same one that slept with Mark Renton back in the day.

She stares up at the ceiling. “What about your job?” 

“There’s a branch in London and I’ve requested a transfer. As soon as it gets through, we’re gone. Shouldn’t take more than a few weeks, so they say.” He pauses, taking a sip of his beer. “Rents wanted to move back there one day.” 

Diane doesn’t speak for a while, only passes him back the joint. “That doesn’t surprise me. I convinced him to go there in the first place, y’know.” 

“Yeah.” After a moment Simon starts to laugh softly, shaking his head. “I still can’t believe you blackmailed him into seeing you again.” 

“Oh stop it! I guess I was pretty wild then.” She says with an embarrassed laugh, covering her face with a hand. Then, after a beat of silence during which both of their smiles fade away, she speaks. “He’s in a better place, y’know. Happier, and all that. Dawn’s mom, too.” 

“Yeah, I think you’re right,” Simon agrees after a moment, huffing out another small laugh. “Probably doin’ skag right about now.” 

“Probably.” She agrees, turning her head to look at him. When he meets her eyes, they both smile. 

He can see it; Allison and Mark on some cloud, talking and laughing softly to one another and shooting up for the rest of eternity. Even still, they’ve got halos and wings wrapped around them like warm, soft light. 

Simon scoffs. Typical. They always were the lucky ones.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is it! Like I've said, I love comments, and I also have a [Tumblr](http://little-floral.tumblr.com/), if you'd like to say hello! 
> 
> Thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> Comments + Kudos are always greatly appreciated! Hope you enjoyed!


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